Read Online Third Strike by Heather Brewer - Free Book Online Page A

that summer in the Catskills had been for him. It was for the good of the cause, he supposed, but it was difficult to see while he was in the moment, and if he was honest, even more difficult to see as time passed by. But he wasn’t really thinking about the Slayer Society at all as he chopped firewood for his dad, who thought that they should probably get things ready for the coming fall and winter, even though summer had only just barely started. Instead, he was thinking about Sirus, and about what he probably should have done when he saw Sirus, but didn’t. And why he didn’t.
    He should have killed Sirus. He knew that. But he hadn’t acted on it.
    The truth was, when he saw Sirus’s face and had realized that his mentor, his friend, his father figure was still alive, he was relieved. More relieved, maybe, than when he’d seen Vlad, lying in the hospital, and had learned that he’d survived as well. Because Vlad had been his friend, but Sirus had been his . . . well . . . like a dad to him. Guiltily, he glanced at the house in the growing darkness. He probably shouldn’t think that way, or feel that way, or be that way, but there it was. Sirus had been a kinder, more attentive father than his own dad had been capable of in recent years. And despite those damned fangs in his mouth, Joss had been utterly overjoyed at seeing him once again.
    Joss stuck the blade into a nearby log and stood back, wiping his neck with a handkerchief and feeling like the worst son in existence. He hated that he liked Sirus better than his own dad. But how do you change the way that you feel? Isn’t something like that ingrained on your heart, if not your DNA? After shoving the handkerchief half into his back jeans pocket once again, Joss retrieved the ax and set up another log. As he lifted the tool, his thoughts drifted to Henry.
    Once Sirus had disappeared into the woods, Joss shook Henry into consciousness and helped him to stand. The entire walk home, Henry was in a daze and holding his head. Joss wasn’t sure what to say to his cousin about what exactly had slammed him against that tree, so he said nothing about it at all. Once they returned home, Henry went in the guest room and Joss was given chores all day. They hadn’t spoken since. Joss was kind of relieved about that.
    After all, how do you explain to your vampire-adoring cousin that a vampire just knocked the snot out of him without provocation? You don’t. You just chop some wood and hope the whole thing blows over in time for dinner.
    As if on cue, the side door opened and Henry stepped outside. Joss brought the ax down again before tossing the split log neatly into the pile to his left. He was hoping, praying, counting on Henry not approaching him, not saying a word, and if he had to speak, to not ask about what had knocked him out in the woods. Mostly because he already knew where that conversation would lead, and he absolutely didn’t want to go there with his cousin again. Why couldn’t they stick to simple discussion topics, like the weather or which hot celebrity Henry unrealistically thought he had a chance at? Why did it always have to be about vampires?
    A small voice spoke up from the back of Joss’s mind. One he wished that he couldn’t hear. It said that Joss had it wrong. His way of thinking was askew. It wasn’t about vampires at all—not for Henry. For Henry, it was about his best friend, plain and simple. Vampire or human—it didn’t matter to Henry. Vlad was his friend. And Joss had almost killed him.
    Joss reminded the voice that he was a Slayer, and that it was his job to kill vampires.
    Inside his imagination, the voice just gave him a knowing look. One that caused Joss to sigh deeply as he reached for the next log.
    Henry’s shoulders were slightly slumped as he approached. “I’m supposed to help you with the wood.” Clearly, the last thing that he